Over the years, Heath worked at different occupations, one job was being a deputy for Frank Sawyer. Spanish Camp was a haven for criminals at the time Frank Sawyer was hired to be the sheriff.

After pinning on the badge, Frank hired Heath in the next breath. Recognizing the quick reflexes and steady nerves of the youngster, knowing this was a man who wouldn’t cut and run during battle. Recognizing inside Heath Thomson, his strong inner sense of justice, right and wrong.

Between the two of them, Spanish Camp had been cleaned up within six long and grueling months. The criminal element seeking better climates for their health after seeing the two in action.

During the six months, both had killed men in gun battles. Heath whose prowess with a knife matched his skill with a gun, killed a man in a knife fight. Dave Matson, gambler and cheat, had used riverboat tricks on the unsuspecting.

A few of the unsuspecting decent citizens of Spanish Camp complained to Frank Sawyer. Frank in turn sent Heath into the saloon to force a game between Matson and himself. Heath entered into the poker game against the gambler. His years of handling cards serving him well in the contest.

Spectators watched the game throughout the night, both men winning and losing pots to each other. As the night weaned on, Dave Matson grew desperate when the pile of money in front of him started to disappear. Believing his skill was greater than any man’s, he used his bag of tricks against the quiet deputy. Heath’s amusement grew as he countered each of the riverboat tricks.

At last, growing tired of the game, Heath revealed to all in the saloon, the cheat. Grabbing the arm of Matson, Heath pulled two aces out of his sleeve. Matson grabbed for his gun, Heath punched him and sent him flying to the floor. Heath took his gun away and was cut on the arm by the knife Matson took out of his boot. A vicious fight occurred between the two and Heath emerged the victor.

Dave Matson had an older brother, Jake Matson, who adored his younger brother. He knew of his brother’s line of business, his pension for cheating. Jake Matson had taught his brother those skills, had raised him when their parents were killed and swore revenge when he learned of his brother’s death. He traveled to Spanish Camp but was too late. The deputy who brought him down had moved on.

Over the past two years, he would arrive a day or two behind the unknowing former deputy in his search. Seeing the prey’s name on the hotel register in Pine Crest, Jake watched his movements from afar, taking great interest in the brother by the different name.

Trailing the three to Strawberry, Matson watched through his binoculars as the two men dug the grave, saw the fight between Heath Thomson and the man from the hotel.

Jake Matson was watching when Nick Barkley mounted and rode off to the west. He was watching when Heath Thomson mounted and rode into the mountains. For three weeks, Matson watched the comings and goings of Thomson and Barkley. For three weeks, he gained information from a drinking Matt Simmons who readily volunteered information.

Jake was careful to avoid the woman married to Simmons. Looking into her eyes only once, he could see the insanity that lay behind them. He had no interest in any woman, just Heath Thomson and how he would pay.

He had been watching when Thomson stuck a paper in the door before he and his aunt left. Waiting until they were out of the area, he made his way to the cabin, read the note and smiled. Years of searching and thirsting for revenge were about to pay off.

Heading to the spot he had staked out on the trail heading west, he waited for the unsuspecting bait to arrive. Slowly squeezing the trigger, his bullet found it’s mark. Galloping over, he turned the unconscious man over, removed his gun and shoved a piece of cloth over the entrance of the wound.

“Don’t want you to die just yet.” Matson informed Nick, who lay unaware of the man or his words.

Walking over to Coco, Matson spoke quietly to the jittery horse. Taking a hold of the reins, he lead him over to his horse. Looping a rope over his neck, he snubbed the end to his saddle horn. Bending, he lifted Nick up onto Coco’s saddle and tied his hands to the saddle horn. Mounting, he left the trail continuing through the trees until he reached the abandoned mine.

Saturday morning, Heath stood waiting for Aunt Rachel in the mercantile. Pine Crest was the closest town where they could purchase supplies, thus, once every two months, the trip would be made for items they could not make or grow themselves.

The night before his sleep had been plagued by nightmares. Finally, realizing the futility of sleeping, Heath lay in bed struggling to think of the ranch he would be buying shortly, but thoughts of the Barkleys kept popping into his mind. Frowning, he wondered why he was thinking of them.

Heading to the dining room earlier than usual in the morning, his appetite was nonexistent, he ordered coffee and toast only. The coffee in his veins had given him a jump-start of energy from his lack of sleep.

A nagging feeling kept tugging at him, a feeling that something wasn’t right. The nagging feeling persisted, growing as the sun slowly rose above the horizon.

Rachel joined him and agreed to heading back to Strawberry as soon as they purchased their supplies. Unable to explain the anxiety that was grabbing at him, Heath waited impatiently.

Helping his aunt up into the wagon, he threw the supplies in the back and took off for Strawberry at a fast clip. Reaching the dismal town before noon, he helped her down. Reaching the door, Rachel called him over at the note in her hand.

On an envelope with Audra’s handwriting that was addressed to him was a second note.

Heath Thomson, I have Nick Barkley. If you want your brother back, meet me at your corral. Jake Matson.

“Heath, who’s Jake Matson and why would he take Nick?” asked Rachel.

Puzzled, Heath shook his head, “I’m not sure. I knew a Dave Matson once, down in Spanish Camp. Might be a relative of his.”

Unlocking the door, Rachel chewed on her lower lip, “Are you, um, going after Nick?”

Startled, Heath snapped, “Of course I am, he’s my brother!”

The harsh words left Heath’s mouth, automatically at the insinuation in his aunt’s question and his face turned crimson. “Sorry, Aunt Rachel.”

Smiling slightly, Rachel said quietly, “Yes, you are his brother.”

“I’m gonna leave my modoc here. If I’m not back by nightfall with Nick, you’d better hightail it to Pine Crest for the sheriff.” stated Heath unhitching the horse from the wagon, grabbing a hunk of mane and swinging onto its back.

“I will.” replied Rachel.

“Wire the Barkleys, if we don’t show up.”

Receiving a nod from his aunt, Heath turned the mare and started towards the corral he had built in the mountains, questions running through his mind.

Was Nick alive?
Who was Jake Matson?
If Nick died, how would he explain that to the Barkleys?

Heath’s gut wrenched at the thought of Nick’s death and how much he’d actually miss his brother.

HOW HAD THAT HAPPENED?

Reaching the corral which housed the remainder of the down payment on his ranch, Heath slid off his horse and looked around.

“Nice to finally meet you, Deputy Thomson.”

Turning slowly, Heath looked at the man. Jake Matson smiled, his tanned face showing off his white teeth. Heath watched as the man who was at least two inches taller and thirty pounds heavier than him walked closer.

“Do I know you, mister?” inquired Heath quietly.

“No, you knew my brother, Dave.” replied Matson stopping a few yards away, caution and recognition flared in the blue eyes that were regarding him.

“Where’s Nick Barkley?” asked Heath sizing up the man, watching him closely.

Chuckling, Matson said, “Don’t you mean your brother? Maybe I killed him like you killed Dave? Maybe he’s alive and ten yards, fifty yards or fifty miles from here.”

“Your brother pulled a knife on me. I was just doing my job.” stated Heath calmly. “Nick hasn’t done anything to you or your family.”

“That’s true, Thomson. I have to give you that, but I needed some bait to make sure you’d come willingly.” smiled Matson.

“Well, I’m here, Matson.” snapped Heath. “Now, let Barkley go!”

“You know something? My brother was very handy with his knife. I’m going to give you the another chance to prove how good you really are. You and I, now with knives. If I win, you and your brother are dead.”

“What if I win?” asked Heath, his chilling blue eyes piercing Matson’s dark ones. “After all I beat your brother, I might beat you.”

“You might, but I doubt it. I taught my brother what he knew. However, if you should win...” sneered Matson pulling a paper from his pocket. “You can take this off my dead body and find your brother. Last time I checked, he was still alive. Barely."

The word, barely, clutched at Heath’s heart. Nick’s life was being laid in his hands.

“All right, Matson.” agreed Heath grimly, saying a silent prayer that he would be the better man.

Both hands reached for the knife each carried. Holding them, the combatants circled warily, crouching on the balls of their feet. Springing suddenly, Matson leapt towards Heath who stepped aside, the metallic blades clanging as they met.

Gauging the style of each other, their eyes concentrated, their focus narrowed to the enemy across. Testing the waters between each other, quick jabbing movements of their knives creating a delicate dance being played out between the two.

Heath, the smaller man, was at a disadvantage. His arm reach not as long as Matson’s. Blood flowed from a slice on his forearm and cheek, the last thrusts from the larger man finding their mark. Heath fought to keep his anger in check, knowing the way to win was through cool, calculated moves. Watching his opponent’s eyes widen slightly, Heath saw the rush before it started.

Grabbing onto Matson’s outstretched arm, he flew him up and over to land hard on the ground behind him. Turning quickly, Heath met the big man coming up from the ground, his blade leaving a long deep cut across the broad chest before Matson jumped out of the way.

Blood flowed from the cut onto Matson’s shirt. By no means a fatal cut, however much deeper than the cuts Matson had inflected onto Heath. Caution gave way to anger and Matson rushed again. His thrusts with the knife blocked, but his left fist found the ribs of the blonde, taking Heath’s breath away.

Pushing Heath backwards from the size of him and his fury, the men fought like two lions would over a den of lionesses. Heath receiving blows from the left fist, striving to block the knife thrusts from Matson’s right hand. His efforts, mostly successful were driven by the paper in Matson’s shirt and the life he held in his hands.

Driving a fist into the solar plexus of Matson, the man’s face grayed from the blow and the knife that was plunged into his stomach. Holding onto Matson’s right wrist, Heath twisted the knife watching the light diminish from the stunned dark eyes staring down upon him.

Stepping back and letting Matson fall to the meadow grasses, Heath stood bent over at the waist gasping for air. Sweat mixed with blood on his face, his ribs tender and bruised, the cuts on his body stung. Taking the paper out of Matson’s shirt, Heath read the words, and climbed up on his horse.

The entrance of the mine beckoned Heath as he tied up the horse. The thought that Nick may not be in that black hole gnawed at him on the frantic ride over.

Standing and staring at the entrance, he swallowed the lump of terror lodged in his throat from the realization of the upcoming trip into the darkness and slowly made his way inside. Letting his eyes adjust to the dimmer conditions, Heath squinted making out the shape of a man on the ground by the wall.

Rushing over, he grabbed Nick under the arms and pulled him out into the sunshine. A sheen of sweat matched the terrified face, his nauseous stomach revolted. His body shaking as the contents of his stomach left him from the rising terror and panic, he was trying to control.

Hearing a soft moan, Heath wiped the sweat from his face and knelt by Nick.

Gently pulling his shirt open, Heath was surprised at the cloth over the wound. Pulling Nick towards him and checking his back, Heath sat back on his heels and frowned at the lack of an exit wound. The heat radiating off Nick, a testament to the poisonous bullet that was still inside him. Untying Nick’s hands, Heath drug him over to the side of horse.

Tapping gently on the sweaty cheek, Heath spoke loudly, “Nick! Wake up! Come on!”

The buzzing in his ear persisted and Nick turned his head to get away from the sound. The tapping on his face irritating him and he tried to lift his hand to make it stop. The fire he was laying close to was burning him through his clothes, his hand made it’s way to his shirt to open it.

Grabbing onto the hand that was pulling at the shirt, Heath held onto it and called again, “Nick! Open your eyes!”

Watching the eyes move under the lids, Heath kept urging Nick back to consciousness. His calls finally earning him a small glimpse of the hazel orbs. “Nick, you gotta help me get you on the horse. OKAY?”

The faint words sounded like they were reaching his ears through the roaring of a waterfall. Nick nodded slightly and Heath tugged on him, taking most of Nick’s weight while Nick fought to make his weakening body obey when he was on his feet. Moaning loudly from the pain he was forced to endure.

“Sorry, Nick.” whispered Heath at the pain he was causing.

Leaning Nick with his belly against the horse, he clenched Nick’s left fist in the mane and pushed upwards. Pulling as much as he could, Nick struggled to help. The efforts of the men being paid off when Nick was on the horse’s back laying forward onto his neck.

Jumping up behind him, Heath pulled Nick to lean against him, his arms around him tight and started back to Strawberry. The taller man’s head laying on top of Heath’s shoulder.

The fever raging in Nick causing Heath to sweat from the temperature increase. Moans of pain and mumbles were the pieces of conversation Nick was sharing in his pain-filled world as they made their way back.

Hearing the horse, Rachel ran outside, her hand covering her gasp at the sight of the two bloody brothers astride the horse.

“Aunt Rachel, the bullet’s still in him. Put some bedding in the back of the wagon and I’ll slide him off the horse.” said Heath. “We gotta get him to Dr. Martin.”

Rushing back inside, Rachel grabbed the bedding and quickly arranged it in the back. Rachel held onto Nick as Heath pulled him from the side of the horse into the back of the wagon. Hitching up the horse, he jumped up on the seat waiting as his aunt settled in beside Nick, slapped the reins and started the wagon moving.

A rush of adrenaline can keep a person running past their normal limits of endurance or until the adrenaline has expelled its energy level. An adrenaline rush was fueling Heath on the trip to Pine Crest.

Time stood still, no sounds other than the moans and words of reassurance from the back of the wagon, reached Heath’s ears. His mind blocked out everything his body was telling him.

The only thoughts in his mind were reaching the sanctity of the doctor’s office and how to tell the Barkley family, Nick could die because of his past.

The past of the man they’d known only a short time.
The past of the man who only sought peace within himself.
The past of the man who had lived in a more violent world than they realized.
The past of the man who had turned his back on them over a month ago with no intention of going back.

Now, one of the Barkley family could die.

His brother, Nicholas Jonathan Barkley, age twenty-eight. Brother, son and rancher.

The man whose temper and inner principles matched his own.
The man whose voice could be heard over a rushing locomotive.
The man who could outwork any of the men under his employment.
The man who insisted he wasn’t going to let his little brother turn and walk away out of his life.
The man who had shown up the previous weekends to spend time with his new brother, ignoring the reception he had received.
The man who had unknowingly worked his way into his little brother’s fragile heart.

This was his brother.

The man who lay with a bullet in his fever infected body courtesy of some part of his past. Seeing the buildings of Pine Crest on the horizon, Heath felt a sense of relief, sanctity was within their grasp.

Pulling up hard on the reins, Heath looped them around the brakes and jumped down, stumbling slightly. Rachel rushed into the office, returning with Dr. Martin. The two men carried Nick between them and lay him on a bed. Hope pushed Rachel and Heath out of the room, closing the door behind them.

Heath leaned against the wall and stared at the closed door. He felt strange, almost as if the connection to his brother had been severed with that simple ordinary movement.

Heath stood unresponsive to his aunt’s voice, his eyes firmly locked on the door. The adrenaline left his body in a rush, taking away the masking capabilities, it had brought with it.

Looking at his aunt, unable to catch his breath, Heath’s vision wavered and he slid to the floor unaware of her screaming his name.

“Heath!” called Dr. Martin tapping the pale face.

Moaning softly, Heath slowly moved his head to the side and then back, his awareness heightening with each small movement. The pain throughout, making itself known, along with other twinges of greetings.

“Come on, open your eyes!” ordered the physician as Rachel ran her hand through the blonde hair.

Mustering his strength, Heath forced his eyelids open and gazed upon the physician’s face. Understanding flew into the pale blue eyes and he tried to push himself up with his arm.

Prepared for the burst of energy from the young man, Dr. Martin grabbed his shoulders and pushed him firmly back onto the bed.

“Nick!” gasped Heath his arm holding his battered ribs.

“The bullet’s out, Heath.” said Rachel quickly, seeing relief on her nephew’s face. “Nick’s gonna be okay.”

“What happened?” puzzled Heath feeling the bindings on his ribs. Looking down, he pulled the sheet up further and demanded. “Where’s my clothes?”

“I had to cut them off, Heath.” explained Dr. Martin calmly. “You have two cracked ribs, numerous abrasions and twelve knife cuts. Several of them bled quite heavily and required stitches. I had to cut your clothes off since they were sticking to your wounds. You passed out from the blood loss.”

“Oh. Thanks doc.” said Heath quietly.

“You need to rest to get your strength back and replenish the blood you lost. You’re lucky one of those ribs didn’t fracture and puncture your lung, young man.” lectured Dr. Martin

Nodding automatically to the physician’s word, Heath questioned hesitantly, “Aunt Rachel, did you wire the Barkleys?”

“Yes and they wired back. They’ll be here tomorrow.” stated Rachel.

Looking at the physician, Heath sighed, “I wanna see Nick.”

“Nick has a fever and is unconscious. He..”

“I thought you said he was okay!” shouted Heath angrily pushing himself up to a sitting position, his arm pressed against his side.

“He’ll be fine, Heath.” assured Dr. Martin and Rachel.

“Either give me some clothes or I’ll use this sheet.” growled Heath swinging his legs to the side of the bed.

Shaking her head, Rachel handed him a bag and chuckled, “I told you he wouldn’t stay in bed.”

Smiling, Dr. Martin nodded as he left the room with Rachel. The door closed and Heath pulled the sheet away. Opening the bag, he dressed carefully and opened the door. His face sporting a new sheen of sweat by the time he finished. Hope Martin smiled and led him to the room where Nick was.

Heath walked over to the bed, his eyes taking in the large bandage, moving up the torso and stopping at the pale complexion. Holding his hand to Nick’s forehead, he frowned at the fever. “He’s awful hot, Miss Martin.”

“Yes, he is Mr. Thomson. We’re using cool cloths to bring his fever down.”

Nodding his understanding, Heath took the cloth she handed him and dunked it in the water filled basin. Wringing it out, he placed it on Nick’s forehead, making another wet, he wiped his brother’s face.

“Miss Martin, can you leave us alone for a while?” asked Heath quietly.

“For a few minutes only. Call me if you need anything.” said Hope and then adding, softly. “Mr. Thomson, remember you are not in top condition either.”

Flashing her a lop-sided grin, Heath nodded and turned his attention back to the man in his care. Repeating the routine of wetting, placing and wiping. His soft voice speaking to the man in the bed.

“Sorry bout this Nick. I didn’t know Matson’s brother was lookin’ for me. If I’d known, I’d have found him first. I killed his brother in a knife fight at Spanish Camp. He was a gambler and a cheat.”

Pausing, Heath shook his head.

“Just so you know, I was a deputy when that happened. Don’t want ya to think I go around killing people. I’ve been a deputy couple times. Here and there. It’s dangerous work and you don’t get paid enough. I was good at it, though.”

Waving his hand to the side, Heath smirked, “Matson’s brother thought he was better than everyone too. Boy Howdy, was he wrong! Course if he’d won, you and I wouldn’t have cared at that point.”

“I must like you having you around a little bit. Probably cause you’re too hard headed to go away like I told ya to. I swore to never go in a mine again. God, how I hate those places! Makes me sweat and wanna puke just thinking about ‘em.”

Shivering, Heath sighed deeply, turning to get the cloth wet.

“Your family should be here tomorrow. Aunt Rachel wired them.”

Pulling a chair over, Heath lowered himself into it. Feeling weak from his blood loss and paining ribs, he leaned his elbow on the chair and rested his head in his hand.

“Sorry, Nick I gotta rest a minute.”

The comforting humming in his ears ceased. Opening his eyes, Nick stared at the face of the man in the chair, taking in the pale complexion, the bandages on his face and back of one hand. Moving slightly in the bed, he was startled when Heath jumped up and looked around in confusion.

“Okay…Heath?” whispered Nick, his voice weak and raspy coming out from his scarlet flushed face.

Grimacing from the pain caused by his sudden jump, Heath nodded. Pouring a glass of water, he lifted Nick’s head giving the parched man a drink.

“I’m fine.” gruffed Heath softly. “You’re the one in bed.”

“You...need...bed...too.”

Wiping Nick’s face of the sweat, Heath smirked, “I’m tougher.”

“Listen...older...brother.” gasped Nick.

Heath sighed, “We’ll talk later, Nick. I’m gonna get Dr. Martin.”

Nick held onto his hand and weakly squeezed it.

“Brothers?”

“Nick, I, we’ll talk later.” stammered Heath concerned by the darkened face contorted in pain, the precious strength Nick was losing from the exertion of talking, wanting to delay the conversation until Nick would able to fully understand what Heath was saying.

“No…Heath…now…brothers?” groaned Nick, the pain making his voice weak, stealing it of its natural loudness.

Looking into the questioning, pained hazel eyes, Heath took a deep breath and let it out slowly, unable to keep his feelings bottled inside.

“Yes. Brothers.”

Happiness surged through Nick’s weakened body and he closed his eyes grateful for the two words he had been waiting to hear.

Rachel Caulfield met the Barkley family at the train station late the next morning. Leading them to the office of Dr. Martin, she explained the condition of Nick and the events which occurred.

Entering the office, Dr. Martin lead them to the room where Nick lay sleeping. His fever reduced by several degrees overnight, his deep sleep now one of healing. Jarrod and Audra stayed in Nick’s room while Victoria motioned Rachel into the hallway.

“Miss Caulfield, is Heath all right?” asked Victoria concerned when she didn’t see him.

Smiling, Rachel nodded, “Yes, Mrs. Barkley. Dr. Martin made him take some laudanum an hour ago. He wouldn’t leave Nick’s side until the fever had gone down and he’s asleep in the other room. Dr. Martin believes he will sleep until tomorrow, Heath’s very exhausted.”

Sighing in relief, Victoria asked, “Can I see him?”

Rachel hesitated slightly. Looking into the gray eyes of Heath’s stepmother, reading the concern for her nephew there. Nodding, Rachel lead the way to another door and put her hand on the knob, stopping and looking at the older woman.

“Mrs. Barkley, Heath’s very special to me. I want you to know that I won’t stand in the way if he decides to go back to Stockton. I’d like to know should he decide not to return, you won’t hold it against him.” stated Rachel quietly.

“Whether Heath realizes it or not, Miss Caulfield, he has become very special to me, too. I will respect whatever decision he makes. But, I would like you to know I hope Heath will return to Stockton and be part of our family.” replied Victoria softly. “I know his brothers and sister are hoping he will.”

Rachel smiled, opened the door allowing Victoria to enter and closed the door after her.

Walking over to the bed, Victoria smiled as she gazed upon the handsome face, relaxed in sleep. Running her eyes over the bruises she could see, her fingers brushed through his hair. Leaning forward, she kissed his forehead gently and sat on the side of the bed.

“Thank you for keeping Nick alive, Heath. I’m sorry you had to go through so much to do it. Your brothers and sister miss you, Heath.” whispered Victoria picking up his hand and holding it in her own.

“I miss you, too. As much as I would a son born to me. I consider it an honor to have you in our family.”

Squeezing his hand, Victoria set it back on the bed and kissed his forehead again. “I’m going to check on your brother, but I’ll be back to help your aunt watch over you.”

Her skirts swishing as she walked to the door and opened it. Smiling at Rachel, she turned and headed back to Nick’s room.

Entering the room, Rachel sat in the chair by Heath’s bed, letting her thoughts roam while he was in the drug induced sleep.

Nephew, what will you do now?

....Continued